


bridges.

by newamsterdam



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Mononoke Fusion, Illustrated, Inspired by Studio Ghibli, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: “I just saved your life, you know!” The man called after him. “What’s your name? Don’t you want to know mine?”He did want to know, which surprised him. What use did he have for a human’s name?He didn’t respond, but he stopped.“It’s Bokuto,” the man said.Keiji didn’t stick around to hear any more.Keiji is a child of the spirits, and Bokuto is painfully human. Together, they try to bridge the gaps.





	bridges.

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for the ghiblizine, in collaboration with [betanoiz](http://betanoiz.tumblr.com/), who provided the amazing illustrations and endless inspiration.

It had rained all through the night, and now the scent of damp grass and leaves hangs thick in the air. The ground below the tree line holds all the evidence of a night of destruction— plants uprooted and dirt overturned. The forest is silent, its creatures and spirits either gone, or too timid to reveal themselves yet. It’s as though the earth itself is holding its breath, waiting for the right moment to come to life again.

Keiji sits up in the trees, letting his legs dangle over one of the sturdier branches. In the rising sunlight, his eyes shine the same dark green as the shadowed leaves, and he knows that most would not be able to see him up here. The morning is chillier than usual, perhaps due to the rain, and Keiji pulls his cloak of owl feathers tighter over his shoulders. It doesn’t let him pretend as much as it used to.

He’d never questioned being raised by the owl spirits. Even though he didn’t look like them, he was their son. As a child, he collected their stray feathers, saving them and weaving them together to create his cloak. Years and years of collecting have left him with the magnificent garment that hangs around his shoulders, now. 

On this morning, as Keiji sits and holds his breath along with the earth, he knows that there will be no more feathers. His parents, the owl spirits, are gone now. He doesn’t know how many others went with them. Yesterday, the forest had been consumed in chaos. The humans had thought to take on the gods, and the results had been disastrous for both of them, and every creature in between. 

His disdain, his hatred, for humanity should run deeper, now. He wants it to. He remembers a time, just days ago, when his hatred had run so hot in his veins that there was nothing to do but act on it. He knew the humans from the iron-mining town of Nekoma were to blame for the corruption of the spirits and the destruction of the forest. So, he took himself and his burning emotions and sought out their leader— the enigmatic and infuriating Lord Kuroo. 

Would things be different, now, if he’d killed Kuroo then? He’d certainly intended to. His knife had been poised just over Kuroo’s throat, and the man had only looked down at him, with gold eyes that flickered like lamplight, and smirked at him.

Keiji’s hatred had burned hot and volatile. He’d screamed out as he swiped the knife out in an arc, as Kuroo had effortlessly dodged away from the strike. Keiji hated the surety of his expression more than anything. Unlike the other townspeople, who perhaps didn’t know what they were doing to the spirits, Kuroo was only too aware. He was aware, and he didn’t care. 

Killing Kuroo would have caused Keiji no grief. He’s never had any love for humans, and one less in the world would not even have balanced the lives of the countless spirits that had been corrupted and destroyed by Nekoma’s iron. 

But in the end, Keiji was stopped. He was vaguely aware of someone pulling him away from Kuroo, holding him tightly by the waist as Keiji screamed and fought against him. When he’d been carried out of the town, he struggled more fiercely against his captor, until he had the man pinned on the ground and his knife back in his hand. 

He can’t really describe everything he felt, or should have, in that moment. In many ways, he was like a tree that had been burned straight through, leaving only charred, hollowed-out remains. But when he looked down, he was struck by a face that was both arresting and alluring. Bright golden eyes, honest instead of conniving, looked up at him. 

“You’re beautiful,” the man breathed out, and Keiji had no idea how to respond. 

“You’re an idiot,” he shot back, but by this point his voice was all but gone and the words came out muted, tired.

The man stared at him, blinking several times. Maybe he was surprised to hear Keiji speak like a human. He knew enough to have heard what the humans called him— the Prince of Spirits, the Child of the Birds. They didn’t think he was human, and at that moment Keiji agreed with their assessment. 

“You look like one of those— what did they call them—” The man continued his disjointed rambling, not caring that Keiji still had him pinned, still held a knife above his throat. “A Rufous owl! My people call them Akaashi.” 

“Your people,” Keiji commented blandly. 

Something dark passed over the man’s face, his expression immediately shuttering. Then he shrugged, and looked back up at Keiji. “They used to be my people,” he explained. 

Keiji didn’t think to ask what he’d meant, at the time. Disgusted and exhausted, he pushed himself away from the man and up to his feet. He’d have to find another way to save the spirits, or at least another way to kill pain-in-the-ass Lord Kuroo. 

“Where are you going?” the man asked, when Keiji turned away from him. 

Keiji shrugged, not turning back.

“I just saved your life, you know!” The man called after him. “What’s your name? Don’t you want to know mine?”

He did want to know, which surprised him. What use did he have for a human’s name? 

He didn’t respond, but he stopped. 

“It’s Bokuto,” the man said. 

Keiji didn’t stick around to hear any more. 

Now, he sits up in the trees and turns that moment over in his mind, wondering why he remembers it so clearly. There’s so much that came after, which passed by largely in a blur. He can see it in glimpses and pieces— his mother, the oldest of the owl spirits, becoming something gruesome and corrupted as her white feathers turned dark. The king of the forest staring blandly out at them, seeing beyond this time and circumstance. The king’s head, severed from his body, and Kuroo’s triumphant call against the heavens. A force like the stars themselves spreading across the forest, the entire balance of the universe overturned.

And the next thing he remembers clearly is Bokuto’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him. He’d been saying something, over and over, but it had taken Keiji a moment to register the word.

“Akaashi, Akaashi,” Bokuto said, the force of grip harsh enough to bruise. “Akaashi.” 

Instead of saying anything that mattered, Keiji blinked up at him and asked, “Why are you calling me that?”

Bokuto shrugged, relinquishing his grip but not pulling away from how close he was. “You didn’t tell me your name,” he said, his tone somewhere between wheedling and accusatory. 

“They killed my mother,” Keiji said, instead of giving him an answer. 

“I know,” Bokuto said, his voice losing all of its personality at once. He drooped, like a flower kept from the sun. “I’m sorry.”

He looked sad and defeated, and Keiji couldn’t understand why. Bokuto was staying in Nekoma, he presumed, but he was a newcomer. He wasn’t one of the ones who let the iron poison the spirits, and he wasn’t the one who’d killed the great owl spirit or decapitated the king of the forest. And yet he stared down at the ground as if all the world’s problems were on his shoulders. 

“It wasn’t you,” Keiji said, trying to help. 

Bokuto did not respond. 

There were too many things that Keiji didn’t know about him. He had an impossible amount of strength, and acted on a desperate conviction for peace. Even a day earlier, Keiji would have thought that a foolish position. Here, where the iron mine met the edge of the forest, everyone picked a side. Even Keiji, who’d been born human but raised by spirits, didn’t feel as split between sides as Bokuto seemed in that moment. 

Keiji wasn’t sure how to deal with him. But he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, looking at Bokuto with a critical eye. “Are you going to help me save who’s left, then?” 

Bokuto had looked up, still despondent but the glint of challenge sparking in his eyes. “Will you tell me your name?”

Keiji pretended to consider this. “If you help me return the king’s head to him.” 

That seemed to snap Bokuto into action. And Keiji could admit, just to himself, that he much preferred Bokuto when he was active and determined. And so, they’d set off, to find the only thing that could save them all. 

Now, Keiji sits up in his tree and traces his hands over the gnarled bark. There’s a knot in the tree, and the bark there grows dark and almost black. Keiji presses his fingers against it, his thoughts far away. 

He remembers seeing the corruption embedded in Bokuto’s skin, dark and twisted. It gave him that impossible strength, but it was also killing him. Keiji had seen the way that the corruption spread, taking over everything a creature had been before its influence. He didn’t know how Bokuto could survive so long, having been touched by something so evil. Even Keiji’s mother couldn’t last against it. 

But Bokuto grit his teeth against the pain, and used his untouched hand to hold tight to Keiji’s wrist as they held their ground against all the powers of the forest. They’d found the king’s head, and now struggled to hold it aloft. There was no way of knowing whether the creature that had emerged— glowing like the stars— could see or even sense them. But Bokuto and Keiji stood side by side, and Bokuto screamed up at the heavens. 

Finally, finally, finally, what was left of the king turned towards them. The force of his power was almost to bear— Keiji couldn’t tell whether it was him screaming, or Bokuto. All he knew was that his body felt as though it was being ripped in two, and his arms ached from the weight of the king’s head, and Bokuto was solid and sure beside him. 

Spirits pride themselves on being unknowable, transient, changeable. Despite having grown up amongst them, at that moment Keiji embraced humanity’s conviction and stubbornness. 

Or maybe, he was embracing all those contradictions that made up Bokuto. All the contradictions that made up himself.

He held his breath, and waited. He felt the king’s head being lifted out of his hands, and an immense power washing over him. Despite the weight of it, the power wasn’t oppressive. It was overwhelming, and almost impossible to understand. But it didn’t seem wrong.

Now, Keiji sits up in his tree at the center of the forest. Though the atmosphere is quiet and still, there is no denying that the forest still lives. When he glances down, Keiji can see the bobbing heads of the small forest spirits, regarding him carefully. 

Sometimes, he finds their presence soothing. As a child, he’d watch them as he fell asleep, lulled by the rhythmic movements of their heads. They’re small and white, with dark spaces in their heads that pass for eyes and mouths. He’s seen humans on the outskirts of the forest run in fright from them, and Keiji supposes he understands their fear, even if he doesn’t share it. To someone unfamiliar, the spirits do seem like distorted images of humans. But to someone who knew the spirits first, humans seem like a distorted image of them, instead. 

Keiji sighs and presses his hands back against the tree. When the overwhelming feeling of the king’s magic had faded, he and Bokuto had been left standing along in the forest. Bokuto was pulling his shirt away from his chest, marveling at himself. 

“What is it?” Keiji had asked, looking at him in confusion. But then he’d seen it, too. He reached out for Bokuto on instinct, tracing his fingers along Bokuto’s arm and over his shoulder, coming to rest his hand over Bokuto’s heart. Where before the skin had been purple and mottled, carrying the taint of corruption, it was now clear and smooth. Bokuto’s body was marked with the white lines of old scars, and his chest was defined by the sharpness of his muscles. Keiji lifted his gaze, finally, and found Bokuto’s wild golden eyes trained on him. 

Keiji opened his mouth to speak, but no sound escaped him. He was rendered speechless by the man in front of him. 

But Bokuto didn’t let the silence stand. He let out an explosive laugh, and gripped Keiji by the waist, lifting him into the air and spinning him around. “We did it, Akaashi! We did it, we did it,” he chanted like a child, his voice echoing through the stillness of the forest. 

And Keiji couldn’t help himself. He laughed in relief, feeling his smile split his face almost painfully. He didn’t realize he was crying at the same time, until Bokuto set him back on his feet and wiped the tears away with his thumb. 

This strange human had saved his forest, and Keiji had no idea of how to thank him. Before he could come up with something, Bokuto announced that he had to return to Nekoma, to check on the people there. 

“I’ll probably stick around there, for a while,” he said, shuffling his feet in the dirt. “Make sure everyone’s okay, and all. And I guess you’ll be…” 

“The owl spirits have always watched over the forest,” Keiji said softly. 

Bokuto nodded as if he understood. “So, you’ll stay here, then.”

It wasn’t much of a goodbye. And Keiji hadn’t had the time to dwell on it, then. But now a new day has broken over the horizon, and as the sun rises it dyes the forest every shade of pink, orange and gold. And Keiji is left alone here, with only the quiet observance of the forest spirits and his own thoughts to keep him company. 

“…kaashi! Akaashi!” 

He looks around, startled. There’s no one up in the tree with him, of course, but the voice still echoes up through the branches to reach him. Not quite believing, he looks down towards the ground.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto has both of his hands cupped over his mouth as he calls out. His hair, normally streaked gray and white and black, is tinged in the colors of the sunrise. And he’s looking for Keiji. 

The forest spirits turn their heads towards Keiji. They have no real expressions, but Keiji feels their assessment, their judgment. He sticks his tongue out at them, briefly. He’d once witnessed a human child do the same. Right now, he feels both human and childish. 

“Hey, you guys,” Bokuto is saying, kneeling down to speak to the forest spirits that linger on the ground. “Have you seen Akaashi, around? He’s like, this tall,” Bokuto pauses to approximate Keiji’s height, “And he has this dark hair, and these really pretty green eyes, and he’s got red paint on his cheeks, here and here,” Bokuto traces his fingers down his own cheeks. “So? Have you seen him?” 

He isn’t scared of the forest spirits, the way others usually are. But maybe he knows there’s nothing to be scared of, since he’s faced the full might of the king of the forest. 

Keiji barely realizes he’s smiling to himself as he uses the branches to swing down to the forest floor, landing on his feet and straightening up before he says, dryly, “They won’t talk.” 

Bokuto whips around, his entire face lighting up as he sees Keiji. “You’re here,” he says, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

Keiji raises one brow. “I live here.” 

Bokuto laughs. “Yeah, but I didn’t know whether I’d find you.”

But Bokuto had been so eager to get back to Nekoma, yesterday. Keiji doesn’t understand why he’d come looking for him now. 

“How’s Kuroo,” he asks, even though he doesn’t actually care.

Bokuto is still smiling at him. “He’s recovering. And for once all the townspeople are doting on him instead of the reverse, so I think he’s really enjoying himself.”

Oh, good, Keiji thinks darkly. At least the person who started all this is enjoying himself.

“I’m really glad I found you,” Bokuto says.

“Why,” Keiji asks blandly. “You were going back to Nekoma. To live there.”

Bokuto scratches his head, looking at Keiji as though he’s missed something important. “Well, yeah. Because Nekoma is right there, next to this forest. Next to you. I couldn’t leave, not now.” 

Dimly, Keiji remembers that Bokuto had mentioned being from some other place, before. Belatedly, he realizes that Bokuto’s decision to stay in Nekoma may not have been entirely for the townspeople’s sake. 

“Oh,” Keiji says. There’s a strange and foreign emotion welling up inside of him, expressing itself through the heat in his cheeks. He can’t remember what his anger had felt like.

Bokuto’s laughing, again. “Yeah,” he agrees, reaching out to cup Keiji’s cheek in his warm, calloused hand. 

Keiji leans towards him, until their foreheads are touching. It’s the closest he’s ever been to another human, the most he’s ever let himself feel their sameness. He swears he can feel the beat of Bokuto’s heart, even though they aren’t quite close enough for that. He’s still smiling.

“Hey, Akaashi,” Bokuto is saying, his voice going to a hushed but dramatic whisper. “You were going to tell me your name, weren’t you?” 

Keiji nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the forest spirits watching them. He spots a mottled feather on the ground and imagines the great owls who raised him, their wings wide enough to engulf both him and Bokuto as they stand in such proximity. 

“It’s Keiji,” he says softly. It was never really a secret, but now it feels like something precious as he shares it with Bokuto. 

Bokuto’s smile deepens. “Keiji,” he tries out. And then, laughing a little, “I still like Akaashi, too.”

Keiji purses his lips for a moment. “I could live with that.”

After all, they’re all going to have to live with each other, now. The forest is not going to uproot itself, and Nekoma and its denizens will not yield. If anything, maybe they both need people like Bokuto and Keiji to bridge the spaces between them. 

Keiji reaches out to grip Bokuto’s free hand tightly. If nothing else, he’s at least willing to try.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/newamsterdame) | [tumblr](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/)


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